Short Story: Foolish Child

By: Pineapple Blueberry

The depressing truth behind the transformation of a child into an adult during the Great Depression of America’s 1930’s.

The clopping sound of horse’s hooves reverberated through the valley.

The child lay on the rocks finally content after days of slowly rotting away. The kind stranger–a camera man–had given him water and food that would sustain him for at least a few days. But what a foolish child, he savagely devoured all the food as fast as the economy went downhill. The foolish child. He would need that food later.

His bare, begrimed feet dangled off his makeshift shelter as he thought about his brief but dismal life. 2 million people were left homeless after the depression started, but they never imagined that they would be victim to the life ending pestilence of poverty. At least not until mama had died. After that…his life was over.

Papa started drinking, gambling, anything to take his mind off the loss. Soon after they got evicted from their house, he lost his job, and his four year old child was left without a mother, a home, or most times even food. Still, the child whistled through life with euphoria. I guess that’s one upside to being a child; no matter how bad it got, he never felt the impact. All he had was his oblivious bliss. He may have had his father, but that incompetent plague did nothing but spend the little money they had. However, his son adored him.

The child’s ignorance also blocked out his father’s impotence. He only recalls the sacred times with his mother–when his life was whole and his future promising. The foolish child.

The quick devouring of the food resulted in quick hunger. Within the hour of the cameraman’s departure the boy was, yet again, famished. The gritty taste of dust dictated his senses. The luxurious taste of water haunted him as he roamed the desolate valley.

He never doubted that failure of a father for one second. His papa’s promise of return resounded through his head. He had been gone for two days now. His father had just left an hour before the cameraman did. No thoughts of abandonment dared to reach the child’s mind; his saintly father was still preserved in his naive brain.

Their shelter stood alone in the vast empty valley. The unwanted rubbish they found off the road served as a temporary home. The everlasting smell of mold trailed the chairs used to prop up the fading blanket. It wasn’t much, but, to the child, it was paradise. The foolish child. The boy was bored by the second hour, by the third hour he had explored everything that the sovereign cave had to offer. The child’s imagination was all he had left, and it gave him immense joy. However, it’s fuel was running out. He was starting to doubt his father.

By the third day he was sad, broken down, and entirely distraught. 72 hours without food or water has torn away the hope and life in the young child. The tears he had cried coated ho dry face. The water blended with the dirt on his face making a bumpy tear stained face.

Only the power of a Great Depression could break down a child’s spirit like that. The desperate child begged and yelled loudly for anyone. The languishing cries would frighten anyone. His imagination and ignorance were long gone. The and by the third, his fitful mind discovered everything the valley had to offer. His imagination made the melancholy valley a place of dreaming and hope.

However, by the third day, his whimsical blessed ignorance had faded and in came the stifling mindset of an adult. The eccentricity of a child is quickly dislodged by a life ruining burden of maturity in the Depression. Children skip the age of pure joy in these times. The child’s desolate cries permeate the valley and grieve anyone in ears length. His dry tears had mixed with the dirt and created a bumpy paste that covered the boy’s face. The realization of his father’s deficiency had finally dawned on the newly grown young man. The craving of food was dominating all possible thoughts. He wouldn’t last long. The foolish child.


The clopping sound of horse’s hooves reverberated through the valley. A man rode into the canyon on horseback. He stood next to the inept shelter by the head of his cold son. Silence reigned through the plain, the only noise audible was the low sob of a grieving father.

Short Story: Pure Eyes

By: Pineapple Blueberry

“A house of ivory, with windows of crystal. Hidden under the steps; a door. A door to the treasure. A door to the secret. A door to the truth.”

My father’s last words echo through my head as I pace through the barren land. He died last month. On his death bed he said those words. After he died, the government threw his body off the spaceship. The government is a mystery to me, and to everyone. They gave us numbers for identification. No names. But my father gave me one anyway. My name is Atticus. My father said that it is a powerful, and honorable name. He taught me to live up to that name. The citizens of The Society came from a forbidden land, a land that was full of violence and bloodshed. So they left on a spaceship; the S.S. Trump. No one gets the name though. The S.S. Trump has been floating in space for almost thirty years. My father left the forbidden land at age ten. At that time it was 2016. As I step on the street, I step on that forbidden land. My father wanted me to come here. My father needed me to come here, to find the ivory house and the crystal windows.

Two birds roam through the field, making, loud obnoxious noises. They are bright red, a color that the Society told us was never to be used. The only words the citizens are allowed to use are what they consider “pure” words. The only thing anyone can think or talk about are “pure” things. But anything interesting is anything but “pure”. I asked my father his definition of “pure”, he would always respond the same way.

“Son, everything you are taught, everything that surrounds you, everything you know, none of it is “pure”.”

I look at the two birds and realize that these are the only other life forms that I have seen, except humans. The thought sinks in. I smile. The forbidden land has always seemed daunting, and alarming. But now as I stand here, I realize that there is peace, and serenity here. Suddenly, one of the birds turns toward me. His beady eyes bore into mine as I quickly turn away. The Society tells us to never look in someone’s eyes. When people’s eyes meet, you can look into their soul. You know about their history and their life. The Society always warns us of the perils of eye contact. And everyone knows, you never disobey The Society.

The last house on the street I am walking on looks vaguely familiar. I’ve never been to this land, but it still looks familiar. The color of the house is distinctive. Its a creamy white shade, with an antiquey look. The ivory house has alluring, shining windows; crystal windows. This is it. I open the beautiful ivory door. The old hinges make an eerie sound. The wooden floors creak and echo as I guardedly enter the house. An elegant wooden staircase lies on the back wall. Craning my head, I look up the stairs, but I only see darkness. The stairs are made with rectangular pieces of wood. One of them had to lead to the door. I started picking, and pushing on all of them. Until I had gone to every last board did I realize that my father’s departing words were only the slurred speach of a dying man. I sit down defeated and depressed. With much agony I slam one of the boards. The entire stair wall collapses.

Before me millions of people’s blank eyes stare up at me. I try to avoid them, but it is inevitable. I look into the eyes of a little girl.

I hear crying at first, and then I see her life. I see her being a maid and working when she was just an infant. I see her getting beaten and crying. I see her watch people die. I see her almost die herself. I see every small depressing detail of her life, and I see it all from her eyes.

Then, I look into the eyes of an old man next to her. I see his life too. I see the violence of the forbidden land. I see him getting put into concentration camps to work. I see him getting beaten, and hurt. All the people of color got herded into camps. The Society was in the middle of all of it.

The vast sea of helpless, beaten people only made all this worse. Questions filled my head. Who are all these people? What did the Society do? What do I do?

Poem: My Life

By Lemon Chiffon

The poem is so hard to write

I am so tired

Hopefully spring break will come soon

Why does Mr. J give us so many group projects?

The renowned Molang B. is sitting next to me

That’s a vocab word

Shout out to Bosley

A serial killer has been created

by Pineapple Buleberry

I can’t spell

What does water taste like?

Why I am writing this poem?

What do you mean?

Dun Dun Dun Dun Dun

Potato Banana

The Martian grows them

The poem is so hard to write

Book Review: The 5th Wave By Rick Yancey

Book Review by Molang B.

This story recieves a

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The 5th Wave By Rick Yancey

The book starts off with introducing the main character — Cassie Sullivan. She is running away from the Others, aliens whose main goal is to wipe the earth of humans. Previous to the publication of the book, Cassie was separated from her brother, Sammy. On her journey toward finding Sammy, she encounters different obstacles.

This piece of literature is organized into different “sections” with different points of view. The author doesn’t tell the reader which point of view the section is in, so part of the fun is determining who it is, but it might only be for readers who appreciate a hidden challenge in a novel. When it is in Cassie’s point of view, she writes as if the book is her diary, so she talks to the reader personally.

I enjoyed reading this book, but during some parts, I felt as if the novel became uneventful and rather slow. The first part was mostly about Cassie’s life before the publication of the book, so it might intrigue some people. Afterwards, though, there was action, romance, and teddy bears.

The 5th Wave is very deep, so if you read it… prepare to be checked into reality.

“Before I found you, I thought the only way to hold on was to find something to live for. It isn’t. To hold on, you have to find something you’re willing to die for.”

Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave


Is that not the deepest thing you’ve read?

Wait, hold on… THERE’S MORE!

“We’d stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You’d think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn’t.”

Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

Just one more. I promise.


“His heart, the war.

Her face, the battlefield.”

Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave


Okay, I’m done.

Some people think that this book is a dystopian, but I think that it is just an alien book. It is mostly about aliens, not the usual dystopian plot. One last thing… THERE IS A CLIFFHANGER! Seriously, does the author want to kill me? Don’t worry though, the second book is already out, so stop by the library and pick it up along with this book. Trust me. You will read this in two days, and you will think, why didn’t I get the second book? I should’ve listened to Molang B. I feel you. It took me a couple of days to finish the book, and I regret not getting the second book along with it.

The 5th Wave series:

The 5th Wave

The Infinite Sea

The Last Star

The third book is not out yet. The expected publication date is May 24, 2016.

This book is being turned into a major motion picture on January 15, 2016.

“In case you’re an alien and you’re reading this: BITE ME.”

Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave


I couldn’t resist!

Poems Collection #1

By: Clare


24 hours



black, rich, velvet sprinkled with shimmering gems of twinkling stars



colors woven seamlessly into the dimming sky as the sun sinks beyond the shadow of the land



bright, translucent azure washed with the shining yellow of the sun and green of the trees



the sky darkens

and the blue recedes into angry hues

like dark red and tinted purple and deep navy

and then the clouds come in

rings of gray in different densities

like the huge arm of darkness reaching down from the heavens

slamming rain and lightning and thunder upon the land

carrying out nature’s wrath on the earth

while the ground welcomes the storm with open arms.